I’ve glued my chairs to the ceiling and glued bodies to the chairs and I’m Lord of the Flies sharp-stick pointing and screaming, “Pinata!”

Sour. I’m not sleeping anymore. Experiment unplanned. Efforts were made to exit awake, the assumption of a horizontal position, generous time spent on the tuck-in, a salutation to invading spirits that have their own ideas about chairs and glue. This, prior to ceiling stares with no reward, just aggravation from anticipation of dreams growing feet and pushing me up trees before dropping me back bark-covered. Instead I’m basket tossed (awake), scribbling tirades against an army of cats clawing new entries with loud single-tone language. Evolve. Grow thumbs.

In the no-sleep the now is Real, lost minutes tick-tock on metronome clocks I pretend not to watch or memorize each morning before flipping double middle fingers to my anime pop rocking dark-circled (and laughing) mirror selves.

In the soothing hum of pseudo awake shaved heads are beautiful, designed to activate human purr and every nerve ending from fingertip to clit until eyes turn fire mid flutter.

Pseudo awake he is the inhaled breath of a-ha, eel-eyed green pilgrim of the ocean’s ocean, alien device buried in a hand pretty enough to distract inspection and howl-spark me the adored. His hovering others may never land. He’s never landed either.

In the pseudo awake the War of the Worlds reading ends a bit different. A nation duped by a shot-charged radio reading isn’t duped twice by those eager to convince them they fell face over fist into processed panic. You know, like made up and put on the radio. That wasn’t real or anything. Ahem.